Tower in Her PocketbyProfessorR©
Case 98-1 "Tower in Her Pocket"
by Prof. Richard W.
(formerly of the University of ____________)
All of the characters and their behaviour are fictional, and anyone attempting their behaviour is bound to get into a lot of trouble. Copyright © 2005 by Richard Williams, all rights are reserved. This story was written in 1998.
Heidi Norton was a raven-haired woman in her mid-20's, with an easy smile and an engaging laugh to match. I met her by arrangement in the grand new Denver Public Library's Periodicals room-- someplace safe and open is what she needed. She had been sent to me by a former faculty colleague, Jill Madison, who had heard just enough of Heidi's story to know that it was up my line and too hot for her to handle.
Heidi was an engineer, Jill told me, quite a brilliant young woman. Observant, meticulous with details, alert. If Heidi said something was wrong, something was wrong. Something had happened to Heidi that was beyond normal, and could I do something about it?
I was surprised at Heidi's easygoing manner, given the careful attention to the details of how we would meet. Subsequently, I was to learn that her strong personality was carrying her through this very personal crisis. She just wanted the reassuring public setting while we got started and the library was perfect for us. As I developed a rapport with her, she relaxed, as my interview subjects eventually always do these days, and I suggested we move to one of the quieter study alcoves. In that setting, with the dull noise of traffic underneath our voices, she told me her amazing story.
Her smile remained, softened as a feeling of calm passed over her. I was glad that my lover Sophia was not watching us, as she might have had doubts about my own willingness to resist the old urge to become intimately involved with my attractive subject. Heidi remained unaware of that, I trusted, and spoke in an unstressed voice.
We were in Paris when it happened. It was only two days of our seven-day excursion from Denver. Two girlfriends and I took advantage of the low fares for British Airways' service inauguration and flew to London. We had never been overseas before, and it all seemed to move in such a whirl. We took the Chunnel train to Paris, checked into our pre-booked hotel, and were out to see the sights.
Do you know what a long hike it is up Montmartre to see the view? When the little funicular railway is not running, that is what one does.... hike. We were following a guy of about age 19 or so up the stairs. He was wearing jeans and we were teasing each other about how good his butt looked. Jean, one of my friends, made a comment about how it was too bad there was only one of him to go around, and then Kerri, the other friend -- she's older than Jean and I -- suggested that at age 19, he probably imagined that he could handle all of us. Kerri and Jean talked some more about how horny 19-year old guys are, and how easy it was to get them to come. It was kind of raunchy teasing, I guess, but we were far from home and feeling really independent. [She laughed at herself.]
We were at the top, looking out over the City of Light, and now there was just one other person near us. The jeans guy had gone on ahead somewhere. The sole other visitor was an elderly man, maybe in his late 60's. [I winced, but remembered that I was much closer to that age than she.]
He introduced himself to us without us asking, and began to tell us about the buildings spread out below. My friends weren't very interested, and began to edge away. He actually knew a lot about the buildings, though, and I remained to listen.
Reynard was his name, and he really had a good sense of humor in addition to being able to tell the stories of Paris architecture. He switched to cutely-accented English when my high-school French stopped functioning. Unlike some Frenchmen, he gave me credit for trying-- flattered me by saying that I seemed very intelligent. I laughed a lot, and relaxed with him. [A half-smile crossed her face.]
I should have done what my friends had done, but the old guy and I were so perfectly on each other's wavelengths that my concerns vanished. Eventually, though, he noticed that my friends were slipping away, and he suggested that we must say our farewells. First though, he wanted to show me a trick for remembering Paris.
Holding his hands out with one palm facing down and the other facing up, he framed the Eifel Tower in them. He got me to do that, too, and it was neat how the distant tower appeared to be in the palm of my hand.
[At this point, I asked her to show me what he did, how he held his hands, but she would not. This puzzled me at the time, although her reasons became clear soon.]
Then, he had me pretend to slowly telescope this little Eifel Tower down between my palms, till my hands would touch each other. As I did so, he calmly explained in a smooth voice, that I would feel very comfortable in doing this, and that it would put the energy of the City of Light into my hands, that I could carry it in my pocket. He told me that this would let me keep Paris in my memory, and that perhaps I would come back and visit him. I laughed in agreement, sure! I can't say exactly what all he said, because at that point, just as I clapped my hands together, jet lag caught up with me I imagine, and I kind of drifted off.
It was just a second or so, but I guess he noticed, because suddenly I realized that he was raising his voice and telling me to wake up. I felt embarassed, but really full of energy. My friends were coming back to drag me away, so I had an excuse to leave then, but actually now there was less chance of me falling asleep, I was so refreshed.
As we headed down to the little cafes and bookstores, Kerri and Jean told me that they were amazed at how long I had talked to Reynard. They claimed that I had carried on chatting with him for fifteen minutes while doing that tower-in-my-pocket trick, but I think they were really stretching it. I did talk to him for quite a while, but that trick only added a couple of minutes.
["I must ask you a very personal question at this point," I interjected. She nodded agreement. As calmly as I could, I spoke "did you feel sexually aroused when you were done speaking with him?" Heidi started to speak, then stopped herself, then began to speak again.]
Yes, I did! It's amazing that you knew that. I never told that to Dr. Madison when we spoke.
Yes, I felt an attraction to him! I didn't tell Kerri or Jean that at the time, either. It seemed so strange. I think it was the combination of our teasing about the 19-year old guy, and then perhaps the sheer stimulation of talking with Reynard. Whatever, as the three of us walked down the hill, I realized that I was wet from just thinking about things.
Something else funny, that I bet you wouldn't guess is that I remember his phone number- Reynard's phone number. And I don't remember him telling it to me. I even have thought about calling him, but I've got this bigger issue to deal with.
[I nodded encouragement. She had spoken freely about her sexuality, and now she was headed into the deepest water of her story. Things were going well.]
The three of us had a good time that evening, although Kerri and Jean got a bit smashed, and I was kind of embarassed by how loud they were- especially when they started in topping each other with more "horny 19-year old" tales. It was kind of a relief to get back to my room.
For a minute, I thought about what Reynard had told me. It had been quite a day, and I did want to remember it all. I tried taking the imaginary Eifel Tower out of my pocket, and waved my hands as if I was shaking it out to full size. It wasn't an earth-shattering feeling, but he was right, it did bring back the image in my mind right away.
I started undressing-- I especially wanted to get those panties off, as the cold air on the damp cloth was making me uncomfortable. I was down to my underwear -- nothing fancy, Professor, just comfortable for travel -- and I heard someone make a low whistling sound.
You can imagine how I almost lost it right then! I whirled around, and there was the 19-year old guy in the room with me. He seemed perfectly at home, and not at all threatening in his manner.
"Go ahead with what you were doing," he suggested, in English accented just like Reynard's.
I wanted to scream, but for some reason I did not.
"What do you want?" I pushed the words out of myself. I was rooted to the spot, trying think of a way out. He was between me and the door. I don't think that I could have gone anywhere out the window. Anyway, he looked strong enough to have stopped me from going anywhere that he didn't want me to go.
"I'm just here to do what you want," he answered. That could have been an evil-sounding phrase, it could have been sarcastic, but instead it was presented as a simple fact. He calmly unzipped his fly.
Again, with urgency, I demanded to know what he wanted. Again he gave me the same cryptic answer. He unsnapped his jeans.
"Who are you?" I tried a different tack.
"I'm the guy on the stairs who you thought had such a cute butt." He began reaching into his blue cotton briefs.
"Uhhhh.... okay, but what's your name?" Now I was sorry that we had teased about him. Had he heard us?
"I don't know what my name is." The question stumped him! He looked genuinely perplexed.
"How can that be?" I wondered to myself if he was a mental case. Still, he made no move toward me.
"Well, you never learned what my name is. You just consider me to be a sex object, right?" He pulled his penis out through the fly in his briefs.
"Hey, I'm sorry! I didn't like the way my friends were talking... and I'll agree that I should have said something. But you don't need to be upset about it. I'll even get them to apologize.... let me call them right now." I pointed toward the phone, but I could not move to it.
"I'm not upset," he calmly responded. "You don't know my name, so I don't know my name. Make up a name for me if you like." He spread the fly so that his balls projected through it. Still he did not move toward me.
This was not making sense, except that he seemed very deferential toward me. I asked him why that was.
"You brought me here." He gently cradled his manhood in his right hand, and began to stroke it.
I was determined to keep him away from me, and it seemed as though as long as we were talking, I was okay. Except that it also seemed that he planned on obtaining a full erection in front of me. I guessed that was harmless in itself, but sure was weird.
"How can you say that I brought you here?"
"When you did that trick with the palms of your hands... you brought me here." He held his penis up slightly, as if to enjoy the sight of its head emerging from its turtleneck foreskin.
"Hey, that isn't a magic trick, that's just a memory device!" My tone was stern, partly because I was wondering if he might be right.
"Well, I'm part of your memory. Yes, that was a memory device, but I guess it's not working the way you thought it should. What were you expecting would happen?" He began rhythmically stroking his little friend.
"Couldn't you stop doing that while we talk?" I pleaded.
"No, not unless your subconscious wants me to quit. In a bit less than seven minutes from now, you'll be enjoying watching me come." A mellow look passed over his face as he settled into a pleasing pattern of sensual massage.
"Well, my conscious mind sure wants you to quit. Isn't that good enough?" Involuntarily, I looked at the clock.
"The conscious mind isn't all it's cracked up to be," he intoned. It was in a deeper voice now, a voice with a sense of power in it. His penis rose from its resting place in his hand, as if with a will of its own, and curved into a strong arc shape.
"If I was to frame you between my palms and clap them, would you disappear?" I was trying to piece the whole process together. I had to get rid of him quickly!
"Yes." He shifted his hand slightly, to vary the pattern of his touching. He was enjoying the sight of his own erection, teasing a finger down it, and then testing its strength by pushing down against it. He smiled when it sprang back into position.
I struggled to try and frame him in my palms and was unable to move my arms in a coordinated manner. Suddenly I felt helpless.
"You said that I could make you disappear!" I pleaded, almost whining. He smiled quite pleasantly-- no sign of enjoying what must have been my humiliation.
"Yes, if you wanted to, but you don't." A drop of precum appeared on the engorged purple-red head of his staff. He ignored it for a moment.
"How do you mean? Uhhh, couldn't you point it away from me?" He obliged by turning slightly, but that didn't help, because now I was looking at his perfect French curve in profile.
"Your subconscious brought me here, because somehow you tangled up the memory trick with your ideas about me. Your subconscious wants to know if I could handle three women this evening, and now it's finding out. It's really simple, isn't it?" He carefully spread the now sparkling fat bead of fluid down over the head of his penis, paying special care to moisten the sensitive stretch of skin under its "chin".
"You mean I HAVE to watch you?"
"I mean that you WANT to watch me. Isn't it true that you've always wondered what it would be like to watch a man masturbate? You used to enjoy doing it with Jack Flanders when you were a Freshman at the University, right? But you never got to watch, because you were necking and he always wore a condom and you both kept your clothes on." He chuckled a bit, and then pulled his penis slightly down and turned so that it pointed toward me again, even more directly now.
"More pleasure," he explained. "More like being inside you to stress it a bit." I wanted to be offended again, but what he said seemed to make sense. Of course, I was startled to be reminded about Jack, but then this did make further sense as a fantasy of some kind, because how would a guy in France know that story? Perhaps I could just close my eyes, and the whole bad scene would drift away. I tried closing them.
"You'll miss the best parts," the young man told me. "In fact, your subconscious is not going to let you keep them closed, because as you try to, you are already wondering what I am doing. You can hear that my breathing is changing now, even though you can't see me."
He was right. I felt compelled to open my eyes again, to see why his breathing had grown audible. He was swaying back and forth in time to his breathing, and the stroking motions. His eyes were dilated.
"You're coming right along there..." I tried a cheerier tactic. Could I charm him into going away, or letting me go?
"Yes, but that's easy when I'm with someone as good looking-- as sexy-- as you." Suddenly I was conscious of standing in front of him in my bra and panties.
"I see that you are enjoying this, too. That's great!" He motioned with his free hand toward my wet panties.
"Ohhh... that's just left over from something earlier," I lied. It suddenly dawned on me that it had been renewed, wetter than ever, in his strange, forceful presence.
"Of course... it's not... I know how you feel right now... because I am part of your mind." He intoned this between gasps. The head of his sex organ was now shiny with his flowing preparation. Tiny streaks of white were appearing in the clear fluid.
"It's getting warm in here... isn't it..." he said throatily. He struggled to unbutton several shirt buttons with his left hand, while continuing with the unseen, unheard beat of jungle drums.
"Stop now, or I'll scream! You'll be arrested." My conscious mind tried one last urgent demand to shake free of him, but he just tilted his head down and looked at me with penetrating eyes. I remained frozen to the spot, unable to do more than whisper now.
"Please.... please..." I begged him, but as I did so, a strange thought entered my mind. I was saying that not as an entreaty, but as if I was his lover... my voice was matching his urgency. And it felt good.
I watched his balls as he flexed his groin muscles-- his jewels were pulled forward. For some reason, it occurred to me that in pre-caveman times, this must have been a turn-on (or a warning) to the fecund females of the band. As if knowing what I had thought, he strutted for a moment around the room, inviting me to witness his readiness.
And then he had to come. Again, he lowered his head and looked deeply into my eyes, drew in a deep breath, and as he did so, I saw the electric bolt arc through him, and a jet of hot semen shoot toward me. Instinctively, I stepped back, although it fell viscously short of me.
"Wait a minute!" I thought to myself. I was able to move now. I looked at the clock-- seven minutes exactly.
I bent down and touched the carpet; it was sticky, warm and wet where his load had fallen. He looked at me now with a foolish grin as he squeezed the last drops out.
"Now you've made a mess in my room. How am I going to explain that to the maid?" I was indignant, although at the same time I felt very warm and unbelievably sexy. Nothing else made sense, so why should things be different now?
"You're the only person who will worry about that," he chortled. "Remember, all this is in your imagination."
"Now that I can move again, can I clap my palms together and make you leave?" I was still trying to feel angry, but instead I was being distracted by this sexy feeling. Even if it was imaginary, thinking about a good-looking guy feeling so excited by ogling me was making me excited. That wasn't right, I knew, but knowing that didn't stop the feeling.
[Heidi leaned forward to speak even more softly to me. Her face was slightly flushed. At first I thought it was from embarassment at this intimate recital, but then I noticed that her mannerisms were indicating something else. She touched at her clothing, to straighten imaginary wrinkles, and unthinkingly tugged at her bra to relieve the added tension building within it. I tried not to notice.]
"You can do that, but you don't want to, do you?" He laughed and grinned at me.
"Heidi, isn't your bra getting awfully uncomfortable? You think it's warm in here, don't you?" It seemed perfectly normal for him to say that. "Myself, my balls are hurting from the tension of this elastic on them. Do you mind?" And without waiting for my answer, he slipped his pants down. His flaccid penis retreated easily back through the fly of his briefs. And then he was tossing his shirt and undershirt aside.
"Hey! How'd that happen??? My bra is off!" I barked this at him. Somehow, I was standing there topless, just like he was-- with, of course, noticeable differences.
"You took it off, while I was taking off my shirts." He said it in a teasing tone. "And I'm glad," his voice quieted, "because you are too cute to stay in it." I blushed, even though the whole thing was strange, or maybe because of the strangeness. How had I done this?
"I like the way your blush goes on down to your breasts." He said it in such a sincere way. How peculiar!
"Yes, keep following it that way," he murmured. Without realizing it, my fingers of both hands were tracing my blush down onto my breasts, almost reaching my nipples. I pulled them away abruptly when I realized what I absent-mindedly must have looked like I was doing.
"Let's stop this now! May I clap my hands and get rid of you?" He did not react with any look of offense. Instead he spoke simply and directly.
"Remember, Heidi, you wondered if I could take three women in one night, didn't you?" I hung my head in acknowledgement.
"I might be a little slower the second time, if I have to do everything by myself. You could help me."